girl!"

"That does not interest us"--firmly.

"No-o? It ees an expenseef voyage."

Max looked at Wally.

"Now, we're getting to the point," she said. "How much do you want for
those letters?"

"Oh, Madame, you----"

"Hurry up! What is your price?"

"Ver' good. I say five sousand dollaires."

"Nonsense! I'll give you $1,000."

"But I cannot accept zese."

"That or nothing."

"I have already an offaire of five sousand dollaires."

"From whom?"

"Ze editor of what you call _Chit-Chat_."

"So, you threaten us, do you?"

"I would not say zat. I geef you a chance Madame, to regain ze
indiscretions of ze schoolgirl daughter. But five sousand dollaires is
five sousand dollaires."

"What is your address?"

He gave it.

"Our lawyer will call on you at ten in the morning at this hotel, with
our offer. Good morning."

He bowed.

"Five sousand dollaires is my price, Madame."

Wally started to speak, but she stopped him.

"You will hear from us to-morrow," she said.

He bowed again, most formally.

"_Ma petite marraine_, vous etes tres charmante," he sighed as he left.

"Why didn't you give him what he asked? We don't want the thing hashed
up in _Chit-Chat_," objected Wally.

"You are going right now to the editor of _Chit-Chat_ and make a bargain
with him. Get your lawyer, Clifford, on the 'phone and have him meet us
there."

"You needn't come, Max. It may be nasty."

"I'll come," said she.

Mrs. Bryce went hastily out of the room, without a look at Isabelle.
Miss Watts followed her.

"Well, Isabelle?"

"Wally; I'm sorry!" she said, earnestly.

He looked at her speculatively.

"It may cost a pretty penny to get rid of him. Are you sure Edouard
knows that he is disinherited?"

"I hope so," she said, solemnly. "Wally, it does discourage you with
being patriotic, or having children or anything!"

"Wally, are you coming?" called Mrs. Bryce, sharply.

He hurried away, trying his best to cover a smile with a befitting
dignity.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The negotiations between Monsieur Petard, the editor of _Chit-Chat_, and
the Bryces were neither so brief nor so simple as Mrs. Bryce had
supposed that they would be. She did not have to be told that, after the
notoriety of the Cartel incident, the name of Isabelle Bryce was one for
editors to conjure with. This wily editor, who made his living by
scandal, obligingly outlined the advertising campaign he would